and then she'd say, 'it's okay, i got lost on the way, but i'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry'

[lucked]

Up until now, everything's been easy. As strange as it might be for most people to imagine, Claire Bennet's leap off the Compound has been the best thing that's happened to her yet on Tabula Rasa. Maybe it isn't the healthiest- after all, where the leap from the Compound was supposed to help her shed that mask, come face to face with all that fate'

Comments

[daretodo]

When I first went to Tony with the idea of the O.R. last -- and it was my idea, that whole project was and is my baby -- I brought up the fact that we both would've died after Norman's attack had we needed surgery. Can you imagine that? I would've survived having the tar beaten out of me, sure, but it's the process of patching me up that would've done me in. It was absurd. And given that I'm a veritable magnet for trouble -- which just so happens to include having the tar beaten out of me on a semi-regular basis -- I felt, very strongly, in fact, that having a functioning operating room and improved medical facilities was in the best interest of everyone on this island, all the while hoping that no one would ever need to use any of it.

Yet in a matter of a couple of weeks, I've seen the inside of not one person's chest, but two. There's just something about this year, I'm tellin' ya. At the rate we're going, things might not be so unlike home soon enough.

With a stack of homework for all of my classes she'll be missing tucked under my arm, I collapse into the chair someone's left by Claire's bed, uninvited. The smile I've got plastered on my face belies the weariness I feel everywhere else; it's been a rough couple of months, even for me, and now I have this to add to the pile, someone so close to Mary Jane getting so injured. A part of me wonders if I shouldn't be stern -- read Claire the riot act, as it were -- but it's my experience that that's the last thing you want when your body's in the business of pulling itself together, so the friendly air stays put.

"Well, if your plan was to get out of class," I say, brows lifting as I set the assignment sheets down on the bedside table, "have I got news for you."

[lucked]

Sometimes, I don't know how people put up with teenagers. I know that I'm still right smack in the middle of being one, but already I'm starting to see a lot of things in retrospect, habits and tendencies that I've had ever since the hormones started going crazy (so to speak). Realizing that it's almost a rule that we don't think as carefully about our actions before we jump. That having people hold their arms out in front of us, keeping us from what we've got our minds set onto, it just makes us run forward with greater force. Last night is probably one of those things that I should have thought through a lot more carefully. Talked to an adult about. Sure, maybe my situation is a little different. Maybe my life back home was, in those last few months, nothing more than a continual reminder of the fact that secrets are just going to be part of my life. But there's only so much that those excuses can cover.

It's been nearly a year that I've been on the island, and every single person who's found out about what I am- was, sorry- has been understanding. I'm not in a lab. People aren't poking and prodding, trying to figure out what it is about my DNA that makes me special. I could have turned to any one of those people who knew, told them about my worries, maybe get pricked by a few needles and leave it at that.

Instead, I jumped off the balcony. Yeah. How's that for teenage idiocy?

That said, the smile on my face as soon as Peter drops that pile of sheets down on the table next to me, it's pretty ridiculous. My cheeks actually ache from the effort. I know that there's probably a whole lot more that he's feeling. He's a teacher, a council member, a husband, and... kind of like an uncle to me, even, though we're not the closest. That combination has got to be tiring. But he's still... he's still Peter. And that makes things a little more okay.

"Drat," I say, snapping my fingers in mock disappointment. "I thought I'd totally get the pity vote, this time. Instead, it's breakfast and worksheets in bed, huh?" I glance over at the pile, more than a bit tempted to start on it immediately, like that might start to make up for all the trouble I've caused.

[daretodo]

"Who said anything about breakfast?" I ask, fixing Claire with a curious look as I lean back in the chair. It's both strange and familiar to be on this end of things; strange because, in my island experience, I've more often been the one laid up in bed, but familiar in that, back home, this is the position I found myself more often than not. With Aunt May's weak heart, I spent more than my share of time doing bedside duty.

"I'm a better chemist than I am a cook, I'll have you know." A beat. "Which isn't actually saying much, 'cause I'm a great chemist, so that means I can still manage to score about an average on the cooking side of things, but I still didn't say anything about breakfast."

[lucked]

I don't know whether or not playing the cute little blonde is going to earn me any points here. The thing with Peter is that he gets down to business quick, whenever it's needed. Sure, he's got a good sense of humor to go along with it, but I guess in the end, I don't know how much I can get away with things right now, considering that what I've just been through? It's not really a laughing or joking matter. Maybe I'll try anyway, though. As serious as Peter can sometimes be, he probably also stands a far better chance of understanding what I've been through than most people on the island. Maybe- hopefully- he believes it when I say that I wasn't trying to hurt myself in any lasting way.

And I certainly wasn't trying to kill myself.

I don't know how much Mary Jane's told him, though.

"Sure you did," I pipe up, lightly teasing, raising my chin just so. "You just mentioned it twice. But I guess if you want me to deal with the torture of hospital food, without even the perks of jell-o to keep my spirits high..."

[daretodo]

"Hey, you haven't tasted hospital food if you think the stuff they serve in here's bad," I reply, brows shooting upwards. It's true; the food on the Island can get a little monotonous, sure -- there are really only so many ways you can cook a boar -- but compared to some of the stuff I've forced down my throat in hospitals back home, the food's going to be the least of Claire's concerns. Mind numbing boredom, on the other hand... At least she seems to have plenty of friends to help pass the time; that's probably more effective than any of the painkillers the doctors could give her, if not just more important.

"You'll be eating gourmet here, trust me. No jell-o required."

[lucked]

"I've nabbed my mom's jell-o before? I once stayed in a hospital for an afternoon, back home, but I took one look at that TV-like dinner and just said no," I reply with a soft shake of my head, surprised at the smile that stretches across my face. Neither of those situations are really worth smiling over, of course. That making mom forget things required damaging her brain is still something that I'm not sure I can forgive my dad entirely for, and my afternoon in the hospital came straight after I practically tried to kill a guy. "Admittedly, I haven't had anything here yet. But I guess the last thing to ever expect here would be plastic trays with microwave meals."

My eyes drop a little, tone dropping until it's a bit more subdued. It feels wrong to be quipping too much about this. "I do want out of here sooner rather than later, though."